


Another Blonde, Another Bar

by agirlnamedtruth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Loss of Virginity, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Stranger Sex, Underage Sex, Vaginal Sex, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/pseuds/agirlnamedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years before Dean steps into Harvelle's Roadhouse with Sam, it's just another bar with another blonde.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Blonde, Another Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/67259.html?thread=21406651#t21406651) on the SPN kink meme. I actually started this way back in December '12 but I'm trying to get all my unfinished fic finished so over a year later, here it is.

He had really been looking for a motel. The car was stuttering along like Dean was choking every mile out of it a yard at a time. He missed the smooth purr of the Impala and the soft leather seats. That was a car that had been looked after, loved and nobody had ever loved the Plymouth that was currently running on nothing more than a wing and a prayer.

He’d already driven all day and well into the night, the same as the day before, he was thoroughly sick of the road and the last road sign had only offered him the promise of a hot meal and a hard drink but he followed it nonetheless.

He’d left Sam at Stanford three days ago and his father back at Green Bay, Wisconsin a week before that. They’d been checking out a supposed haunting when Sam finally worked up the balls to ask for a ride to California. After hours of kicking and screaming, Dean had stolen a car and declared he’d take Sam, leading to yet more shouting and a promise that if Dean wasn’t back by the time the hunt had played out, John would move on to the next one without him.

Now Sam was settled and his father hadn’t called to tell him otherwise, so he was heading back up to Green Bay, with the car threatening to stay in Nebraska. He had half a mind to stay himself, for the rest of the night at least.

The promise of a hot meal led him to what looked like a large wooden shack, dark and shadowed despite the neon sign on its roof. _Harvelle’s Roadhouse_. The name lingered in the back of his mind, kicking up dust like he should remember it. He shrugged to himself; they’d been back and forth through Nebraska so many times he’d probably been here before.

There were several classic cars sharing the parking lot with his borrowed and beaten up Plymouth, not to mention a line of bikes standing out front. This would be the type of place where nobody would know the name of the guy next to him, but everyone would know the barmaid’s name, everyone would offer her a drink.

He was proved right when he walked through the door. No-one spared him a second glance, not even when he pulled up a bar stool and sat down. He quickly surveyed the crowd, just out of habit and found it to be made up of gruff men and hardened looking women, the kind that would take your head off if they caught you sneaking a look down their blouses, if their husband didn’t deck you first.

The only easy smiles seemed to come from the staff, three women, all of whom looked out of their depth busy but used to it, like they worked that hard every night. They seemed to form a triangle of a waitress (redhead, mid-twenties and curvy) and a duo on the bar (one brunette, slim but heavy on top, screaming MILF and a younger, petite blonde, screaming jailbait). Each one graced him with a smile as they passed by but they were the smiles they were giving every customer, the _I’ll be with you in a minute_ smile. He noticed rings on the waitress and the older barmaid and admonished himself for even looking; he didn’t have time to start anything, not even a one night stand.

“Can I get you something?” the young blonde asked him, pulling his attention back to the bar.

“Sure.” Dean gave her a smile with the same low level flirting that he always had on standby. “I’ll take a beer.”

“I.D?” she asked, her own smile flickering nervously like she was wary of asking. “It’s nothing personal, just you look... young. Younger than most round here.”

Dean nearly laughed at the hilarity of being told he looked young by some girl that looked barely legal. She had to be though; the state law for selling liquor put her at 19, minimum. Only three years younger than himself, he reassured himself despite his earlier vow not to think like that.

“No problem.” He gave her another smile as an attempt to put her back at ease. He took a card out of his wallet at random, it didn’t matter which one, they were all fake. 

“Thank you,” she said as she took it, glancing up with a curious, almost amused look in her eyes. “Detective?” 

“Yep.” Dean nodded, kicking himself for not checking it in case she expected him to elaborate with a name to go with the rank.

She nodded to herself and handed back the card. “Are you with the local Sheriff’s Department?” She asked as she turned, reaching down into a low fridge to get his beer.

“Uh...no, I’m a specialist. Between cases,” he said, averting his eyes from her ass as she looked back at him over his shoulder.

“Oh yeah? What do you specialize in?”

Dean took a second to scan the I.D he’d given her, just to make sure he wasn’t going to contradict what it said. It also helped that now he had a name to give her if she asked.

“Gruesome deaths,” he said with a bitter laugh, he wasn’t exactly lying there. 

“Oh, really? That must be difficult, intense.” She straightened up and twisted the cap off the beer bottle with her palm. An impressive trick for a petite girl, a trick that had taken him a fair few broken bottles and sore hands to master.

“Yeah, well, I’m a tough guy, I can handle it.” 

“I’m sure you can. Tell me, detective, do you hunt?”

“What, deer and stuff? No, not my thing.” Dean noticed a shadow pass over her face, like she was studying him, looking for something and for a second; he was worried she knew what he really did. Or perhaps she was some demon or fanger, looking for revenge. She brought her hand up to her neck, toying absently with a silver crucifix like she was reading his mind.

“Huh, you look the type.” She dropped the hand and held it out to him. “Two twenty five.”

He took out a five and dropped it in her hand. “And one for yourself.”

“I would love to but I can’t be drinking ‘em as I’m serving ‘em.” She turned towards a till, ringing up just the one beer.

“What about after?”

“I’m closing up tonight.”

“After that?”

“Can’t drink in a closed bar.”

“You can if you’re on the inside.”

“You don’t quit, do you?” she laughed, slipped the change into her apron and started towards the other end of the bar. “I’ll think about it.”

-x-

Jo ran a cloth over the bar, wiping away a nights worth of split drinks and ring marks. It was winding down now, the casual drinkers had gone home and the drunks had been chucked out. Only the few with nowhere better to go were still nursing drinks. And the supposed detective was one of them.

She knew he was a hunter; he had it written all over him, just like every other hunter that walked into the place. She’d been more confused about why he’d pulled the fake name and the pretend cop act with her. Perhaps he didn’t know their rep.

Jo smiled to herself, glancing up at him again. If he didn’t know about the Roadhouse, maybe he didn’t know about her, maybe he didn’t know about her mother and her strict rules. That would be good. Every local boy was too scared to give her the time of day because of her mom. And the ones that weren’t scared of her mother were scared of jail time. 

But this one, he was from out of town and he’d been awfully keen on buying her a drink. Maybe he hoped it’d get her out of her pants. Maybe it would. He didn’t need to know she was just a little shy of seventeen with a mom that would geld him for so much as looking at her too intently.

“I’m heading up now, you’ll be ok?” Ellen asked, her voice close to Jo’s ear, making her jump guiltily. 

“I’ve closed a hundred times, I’ll be fine,” Jo turned to kiss her mother goodnight. “Besides, anyone tries anything; I’ll kick their ass so fast they’ll see little birds.”

“Alright, night.”

-x-

Just over an hour later, he was still sat there, only on his second beer but he was sure making them last. She considered going over to him then, offering him another but closing time was in twenty minutes, she decided to let it play out instead.

She walked over to the bell, taking the rope in one hand and swinging it, the clanging almost deafening her. “Last call, gentlemen.”

She waited for the short burst of activity to die down as everyone got in one last beer or shot and headed back to their tables before she approached the guy.

“One for the road?” She set two tumblers on the bar, not quite as subtle as she’d have liked to have been but the last few customers were drifting out, not really paying attention to her now she was no longer serving.

“I had hoped to avoid the road for a little longer,” Dean said but took a glass anyway.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Jo took a bottle from the shelf behind her and started pouring, measuring out a double Scotch by eye. Dean looked her over again, she looked young, unbelievably young but she knew what she was doing like she’d been pouring drinks for a decade. He almost asked before he stopped himself, asking things like that usually pissed girls off and he liked his chances.

“I don’t know, everyone else seems to have left.” Dean gestured round the recently empty tables.

“Not everyone. You’re still here,” Jo pointed out, taking a sip from her glass. Dean watched her lack of reaction at the burn of a neat spirit. She’d definitely done this before; he was safe he assured himself.

“So I am. And you’re not throwing me out.”

“So I’m not.” She swallowed the last of her drink, giving him a coy smile before she put the glass down and started walking. 

He followed her with his eyes as she walked the length of the bar and then ducked under it, resurfacing on his side. She didn’t go back to him though; instead she headed towards the jukebox, hit a few buttons and gave it a good kick, bringing it to life and filling the air with the opening guitar beat of _Rocky Mountain Way_. Dean wondered if that was for his benefit.

Jo made her way round the tables, collecting glasses, four in each hand and walking in beat with the song, the same thing she usually did when she was closing up alone.

On her third trip back to the bar, Dean moved to stand behind her, catching her between his body and the bar. “Now you know you’re being a tease.”

Jo smiled to herself, pleased that it had worked and worked so quickly. She hadn’t exactly had an open playground in which to practice her seduction techniques.

“Oh, am I?” She pressed back against him, her hips still swaying with the music.

She was answered with lips on her neck and hands slipping around her waist and over her stomach. Her breath hitched and nerves jangled in her belly but she leaned further back into his body, baring her neck even more, encouraging him. His hands drifted down to the zipper of her jeans, metal scraping metal as it came down. 

But then he hesitated and for a second, she thought her luck had run out, he’d come to his senses and realized she wasn’t worth the risk – either that or her mom had heard them and had her shotgun digging into the back of his skull but she craned her neck around and saw no-one else.

“You’re up for this?” he asked and she found herself hesitating too. Give any bloke a free pass at her and they’d have their pants round their ankles so fast they’d literally trip over themselves to get to her. They’d never risk asking twice.

“Yeah, course; I let you stay, didn’t I?” Jo said, her mind certain even if her voice cracked with uncertainty. It wasn’t that she didn’t want this, and Lord, did she want him, she just had nothing to go on. Was she doing this right? Was there something she was meant to do or say to prove she was ready? Were there magic words one had to utter other than _please, have your wicked way with me, sir_ because she didn’t know them.

She kissed him instead, putting her whole body into it, curving against him and turning in his arms until it was her back against the bar. To her relief, he didn’t ask again and she didn’t need to tell him what she wanted of him, he knew. He no doubt wanted the same from her.

She pushed her tight jeans down; finishing the work he’d started, until she could kick them away with her boots. If anyone came down now, they’d be no explaining what she was doing but on the plus side, she didn’t need to tell the hunter either. It was like a glowing welcome sign had been lit above them. Please come in.

He slid his hands over her skin, grabbing her ass and lifting her onto the bar. It was still damp and sticky but she didn’t care. She’d sat on it a thousand times, to put herself on a level with the grownups but she’d never felt so high as she did now, her legs wrapped around the waist of some out of town stranger who need never meet her mom or know her name. She was free. 

The hunter’s hand slipped up her thigh, the other working on the hem of her cami top. She wasn’t quite sure where to place her own attention; she felt very much like she had been served a feast but all the dishes were foreign to her. She didn’t know where to begin.

It was the hand on her thigh that won out, pulling down her panties until they dropped off her feet, over her boots. The feel of the bar under her was even stickier now but she cared even less, the hunter’s fingers were on her clit, drawing awkward circles where the angle between them was less than perfect. She pushed herself back on the bar to give him leverage but he reached for her knee instead.

“How about on the bar?” he asked, gripping her knee to convey what he meant. It still took her a second to get it. He was suggesting she kneel on the bar, completely exposing herself. She hesitated, not sure she was _that_ self-confident but then, _screw it_ , she thought, it wasn’t like she’d ever see him again.

She drew her legs and feet up onto the bar, the heels of her boots scuffing the much scuffed wood. The bar was hard on her knees so she spread them further, opening herself wide and blushing at what he must be seeing. She’d never let anyone get more that a flash of tit or a quick glimpse up a skirt before. What if he didn’t... like it, what she had to offer?

But she was quickly assured by his hitched breath and a noise that sounded like his most primal urges were fighting his self-control. She didn’t worry which would win, he’d been nothing but gentlemanly with her so far and she wasn’t sure there was anything that would make her push him away now she had him hooked and landed. 

She felt his fingers on her clit again and spread her knees a bit further, giving him easy access. One finger slipped inside her cunt while his thumb stroked her clit. It didn’t hurt like some girls claimed but then she’d had plenty of practice on her own. She watched him over her shoulder and in the mirror over the bar in turns. 

She also caught sight of herself, face glazed over in pleasure and her body pushing back onto his fingers, feeling them curl inside her, bringing her closer and closer to climax until she was sure she’d come. But just as she was thinking it couldn’t possibly get any better, she felt his hand pull away, coming to rest on her ass instead. For a second she was sure she was going to get spanked, he gripped her so tightly but his other hand came to rest on the other cheek and she pushed away the association. 

He spread her open, licking along her cunt in broad strokes, never lingering too long, just enough to keep her swaying on the edge, wishing for more. If the bar had been sticky and damp before, it was nothing to the feeling of being eaten out. She could feel her own wetness; she was no stranger to that but to feel _more_ , the heat of someone’s mouth on top of her own heat, the wetness of saliva against her own wetness, there was nothing quite so gross sounding but oddly so _hot_ in world. 

She pushed herself back against his face, bracing her hands on the bar. She needed more. She needed everything. She needed to come. Graciously, he gave it to her, one rolling wave of pleasure after another, stronger than any orgasm she’d gotten by herself, for sure.

She sat back for a moment, her ass digging into the heels of her boots and her fingers curled around the edge of the bar. She waited expectantly, surely it was the logical step to go from going down on a girl to having sex with her, what exactly was it they were waiting for?

She straightened her back and looked into the mirror. Her cami top was tight, hugging her curves. Her hair was down, framing her face. There was a slight sheen of sweat over her skin but nothing worse than on a hot night. She’d shaved her legs that morning in the shower. She regularly waxed her bikini line, just in case. What the Hell was the hold up?

She turned around, trying to stay as graceful as she possibly could. “Is that it then? Not that it wasn’t great, you know, but I thought we could...”

“The bar is too high,” the hunter said and Jo cocked her head to the side.

“What?” she asked, wondering if there was some scale of prettiness that she wasn’t living up to.

But the hunter smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to the edge of the bar. “You’ll have to come back down here.”

“Oh,” Jo said, the realization hitting her on the head with a thump. “Sure.”

She pushed herself off the bar, landing with a clack on the floor. It put her back at a height disadvantage but when she looked up at him, he swept her hair away her face and kissed her again, and she decided she didn’t actually mind all that much being short anymore.

Jo reached for the buckle of his belt; sure she couldn’t go wrong now. Her mind spun through a cycle of positions she’d seen in movies or read about in her mom’s old Harlequin’s but she lacked a proper bed or even a strong table, all the ones in the bar were cheap flat-packed ones that were easily broken and easily replaced. All that left her was the bar, already ruled out, the walls, an experience that sounded hot but the more she thought about it, the less it appealed, and the floor, even less appealing.

She bit her lip. She couldn’t take him upstairs, she was lucky enough for this all to pass unnoticed in the bar. Making a split second decision, she remembered the office and the sofa in it. It was more often used by friends and hunters alike that needed to crash for the night but she was sure there was nobody in there tonight.

“Come on, I know where we can go,” she said, picking up her jeans in one hand and pulling the hunter along with the other. The office was locked but she had the keys in her pocket and it was no time at all before she’d unlocked it, snuck both of them in and locked it again behind them. 

As soon as she was through the door, she resumed her work on the hunter’s belt, eager to get back to it. She walked backwards towards the couch, sitting down on it and yanking the hunter’s jeans down with her.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the outline of a hard cock right in front of her but she didn’t slow down, instead she reached out her hand and ran her fingers over it, getting to know it almost. It was her first after all... but he didn’t need to know that.

When she felt she’d learned all she could with gentle brushes of her fingertips, she pulled down the waistband of his boxers, removing the last barrier between his skin and her touch. She wrapped her hand around it, like she’d heard she should and moved her fist over the surprisingly silky skin. It was easy really, though she didn’t doubt that other more experienced girls might do it better.

It was a simple progression from stroking it to bringing it to her lips. She wanted to be able to say she’d done it all. Not that she had anybody she could say it to, only herself. She lapped at it before taking it into her mouth, experimenting with each often whispered about technique in turn, taking her cues from what he seemed to like best; the constant easy slide into her mouth.

After a while, though she didn’t want to give up, her jaw began to ache and her eagerness wavered slightly. It was all well and good but it didn’t seem to be getting her anywhere and if it did get him off, they couldn’t have sex.

She pulled back slightly, hoping he’d get the message and a gentle hand under her chin said he did. He bent down to kiss her and stayed bent down, gradually getting lower and lower until she needed to fall back on the sofa to accommodate him. She didn’t complain. Rather she pulled him down with her, knowing this was the moment when it’d all happen. 

And it did. After a hasty fumble with a condom he had in his jeans, her legs easily fell apart either side of his body, one instinctively hooking over his hip while he slid into her. It wasn’t too bad, she was still wet from before and his cock was slicked where she’d sucked it. It just felt tight, like she was clamping down on it, even though she wasn’t.

She knew he must have felt it too because he swore softly into her neck. At the same time, she knew it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yes, he might guess she was a virgin but weren’t men always shouting about how they loved a tight pussy.

She pushed the thought away. He didn’t seem to be like those men. Or like the boys she knew. Or like anyone really. He was just a simple out of towner. A blank slate. A clean canvas. He was anything she wanted him to be and as he thrust into her, she found herself content with him as he was. She didn’t need the racy scenes in books or the fantasies of boyband members and tv stars. She had a hunter, with a hunter’s body and a hunter’s stamina. That was more than enough to get her hot.

She could feel herself building up again, easier this time. It only took a few hits to the right spot to start it off, like it had been waiting in the wings all this time. As his own pace faltered, he reached down between them to stroke her clit, as if he knew she needed that little push again and he gave it to her.

When she came back down, she found her hands in his hair, running through it, not even conscious of what she was doing. He’d finished and was lying on her chest, holding his own weight so he didn’t crush her. After a moment, it became awkward. She wouldn’t have minded if he could stay and they could sleep like that but she knew they couldn’t. To put of the inevitable was torture. She was more nervous now, about sending him away, than she had been beforehand.

“Uh,” she started, thinking up an excuse. “I really do need to close up the bar now.”

The hunter lifted his head and nodded. “Oh, right... hold on.”

He managed to get his knees underneath him on the floor and do up his jeans while she pulled her own on, congratulating herself on bringing them with her rather than just taking the keys out of her pocket. It was bad enough she’d left her panties behind, she didn’t think she could manage a walk of shame butt-naked.

When they were dressed and slightly less disheveled looking, she led him to the door, dimly aware she was walking a bit funny. She didn’t ask him what he’d done with the condom; she just made a mental note to check the office before she went to bed. He didn’t need to know the risks she’d taken or the trouble she’d be in if all this came out.

He opened the door and lingered on the porch. “Can I get your number?”

Jo stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “You know where to find me. And this way, we don’t have to pretend you’ll call.”

“What about your name, at least?” he asked again and she swallowed. Sex with a perfect stranger. He couldn’t even spread rumors around about her that might get back to her mom. 

“Nah,” she decided, feeling much calmer. “Let’s not spoil the illusion. Let’s just be... this.”

She leaned up and kissed him, leaving him staring at the door as she closed and locked it.

-x-

Years later, Dean pulled up to the Roadhouse. There was a slight niggling at the back of his mind but he had too many other things to worry about. He’d forgotten why he should remember it.

Jo never took it personally; she knew there had been a hundred other bars and a hundred other blondes after her. There had been another hundred hunters after him but she never forgot her first.

She never reminded him why he felt like he’d known her for years or his urge to protect her but she never stopped reaching for another perfect night with him.

When the offer finally came, she turned him down. On the last night either of them might ever have, she finally realized they’d already had the perfect night.

**Author's Note:**

> As of 01/01/18, I'm opting to disable comments. [More information here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13077201).


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